


Shrine

by lilacskies1928



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Photographs, Sad, Sad Ending, Siblings, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacskies1928/pseuds/lilacskies1928
Summary: "It’s perfect. A perfect shrine. A perfect dedication."





	Shrine

**Author's Note:**

> A short story written for my English seminar for workshopping. The challenge was 'paint the room' where we had to describe the room a random character was in and have it evoke emotions which represented the character's situation: I chose a bedroom with cool-toned colours to evoke the character's sadness.

The heavy door creaks open, the painted grey wood swinging open to reveal a cool, crisp and airy bedroom. Shutting it behind her, Megan blindly tosses her black leather school satchel onto her high divan bed; it bounces off the silver fabric of the quilted headboard and lands with a soft flump, rumpling the crisp white embroidered sheets in the process. 

With a sigh she shuffles forward across the light, unfinished wooden floorboards to close the lace voile and the cloud covered curtains that fall in front of the small circular window, immediately plunging the already dimly lit room into complete darkness. 

She turns and confidently makes her way through the dark – three long strides forward, turn left 90 degrees, one pace forward – and takes a seat in the black leather office chair at her desk. Pressing a nearby plug socket switch, a string of white fairy lights that loop throughout the ceiling beams flicker on, casting a subtle blue-tinted glow around the room, revealing the desk she sits at. It’s the most unique piece of furniture in the loft, painted off-white with large diamond-like knobs on the mismatching drawers: some are large enough for her many fashion magazines and scrapbooks, some are small enough for nothing more than a single pair of sterling silver drop earrings. 

Scattered across the scratched surface are lipsticks of varying shades of pinks – a smoky rose here, a deep berry there – and she shunts them aside along with her magnifying mirror for a clearer view of her Mac. Microsoft Word soon covers up a picture of a smiling, floofy, chocolate brown Pomeranian puppy – posing on a white shaggy cushion on a background of out-of-focus royal blue sparkles – and she begins her final coursework assessment: the short story. 

In an attempt to find inspiration, she glances up at the dozens and dozens of polaroid pictures scattered across her feature wall, almost completely obscuring the black and white damask pattern. Photos of Megan with her girlfriends, artsy landscape shots, macro snaps of daisies and frosted bluebells, as well as more puppy pictures all adorn the wall. They’re all tacked up with simple silver push pins, and are edited so they’re either desaturated or black and white to fit her muted, cool, understated colour scheme and style. 

The only photo in full colour is the largest one, printed on glossy paper and hung dead straight, right in the middle of the otherwise chaotic display: her at age eight, wearing a flowy baby blue dress with a snowy white faux fur coat to protect her from the early spring chill; her blonde locks are in tight ringlets cascading around rosy cheeks and the biggest smile she could possibly muster. She’s gazing down at the tiny baby in her arms, swaddled in pure white cloth. Tufts of golden hair peek out from behind a crocheted hat, adorned with a single bluebell picked fresh that morning from the family garden where she grew up. It matched both of their eyes.

That was eight years ago now. Half of Megan’s life.

It’s how old Mary should be today.

Megan closes her eyes and thinks of how the church was decorated on that day: Mary’s christening. Bluebells everywhere, still with frosted tips from the frozen morning dew. White, silver, pale grey and baby blue drapes strewn across the stands and the backs of pews. The glow of the candles creating a magical atmosphere… it was a sight Megan knew she’d never forget. She reopens her eyes and looks around the room, so reminiscent of that day. She smiles. It’s perfect. A perfect shrine. A perfect dedication.

She’ll never forget that day.


End file.
